


The Source of Our Strength

by SilenceoftheSolitude



Series: Finding Closure [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Pre-Series, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheSolitude/pseuds/SilenceoftheSolitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She felt the tension building up in her brother. She could see him struggle with every breath he took. She could feel him under her soft, small touch; hear his thoughts in her head. And for the life of her, all she wanted to do was tell to those pleading eyes that everything was going to be alright. But she couldn’t, because she felt drained of any energy, and didn’t believe it herself, no matter how hard she wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Source of Our Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Sam and Mark cope with their mother's death, finding comfort in each other. The POV shifts between the two of them regurarly.
> 
> Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. No copyright infringment intended.

The amount of people attending the ceremony was unbelievably immense, at least in his opinion; but then again, he was just a boy. Mostly he saw black ties and dresses, but the amount of blue was quite impressive too. At least his father had the decency not to wear his dress blues; he would have refused to stand anywhere near him if that had been the case. Not even his sister’s strenuous pleas would have convinced him of standing by the General’s side.

 

She saw him tense as a great number of Air Force personnel came to render their condolences to their father and watched the two of them with sorrowful glances. Slowly she approached his hand with hers and grasped it with all the power she could muster up. All she wanted to do was fleeing with him to some peaceful and lonely place. Yet she knew they’d have to endure a lot of other people before they could go back home, and even then, the wake wouldn’t allow them the space to mourn.

 

He felt the soft contact of his sister’s hand and was forever grateful for her presence by his side. She was keeping him floating in the midst of it all, she was looking after him. Without her he’d probably drown in pain, asphyxiate in resentment, suffocate in anger, or fall in complete depression. She’d cook for him. She’d do the laundry. She’d keep the house clean and in order. He could do that himself, he was capable to, mum had taught him how… but he lacked the strength and the will. Everything seemed pointless without mum.

She kept the hold on his hand even on their way home from the graveyard. Somehow she could sense how much he needed to feel her skin touch his, her finger drawing circles on his knuckles, releasing him from some of the tension building up inside him that was impeding his ability to move as would chains attached to a stone wall.

He entered the house in total silence, not daring to open his mouth in fear that the surge of emotion spiraling inside him would choke him as soon as he tried to form words or simple sounds with his vocal cords. And he kept that silence even when the guests arrived. He didn’t want them there, not the unknown faces, not the familiar ones; he didn’t want anyone here. He just wanted Sam, alone, so that she could tell him everything would be fine. Because he would believe her, she was the only person in the whole world he trusted.

 

She felt the tension building up in her brother. She could see him struggle with every breath he took. She could feel him under her soft, small touch; hear his thoughts in her head. And for the life of her, all she wanted to do was tell to those pleading eyes that everything was going to be alright. But she couldn’t, because she felt drained of any energy, and didn’t believe it herself, no matter how hard she wanted to.

It took her some time, but finally she managed to snuggle him outside. She left a message for their father on the kitchen table – although not in plain sight – so that he wouldn’t worry, and then she took her brother with her, outside. From the garden she led him on the sidewalk and from there she took all the necessary turns at a fast pace. He didn’t bother asking where it was she was leading him. He was passive, he looked almost catatonic. She only hoped her plan would help him snap out of it.

When they reached the huge building her hand trembled slightly. Beneath it her brother’s retreated, but she knew he wasn’t running away. He had most likely picked on the fact that she needed her strength to steady herself and so he’d let her go, stopping momentarily from draining the last of her will. She took a deep breath and climbed the stone stairs that led to the main entrance. The immense wood doors were still open and the smell of incense filtered through her nostrils.

 

The memories of the funeral flooded through his brain as fast as the smell of the incense stuck on his clothes. He kept hearing Sam’s voice in his head – her soft spoken words of goodbye to their mother. She had had the strength to say goodbye for both of them, because despite his will to say something – to say _anything_ – he just wasn’t strong enough.

He followed her lead as they reached one of the first benches and sat down. The floor, made of rough stones, echoed with their small hesitant steps, breaking the absolute silence that had reigned in the church up until that moment. Sam embraced him with her left arm as they sat in silence, both staring helplessly at the silver crucifix behind the altar.

He saw her right hand move closer to him. Understanding he put his left on hers. As they united in that simple yet meaningful gesture, they looked ready to pray. Their mother had used to cover their hands in hers when praying at night if something had been troubling them. For the first time he felt words wouldn’t fail him if he tried to speak. He gulped trying hard to regain focus of the crucifix, his vision blurred by the tears he was uncontrollably shedding – the first tears of the day. He breathed heavily and when he released the breath he finally felt ready. “God, please, take care of mum… and let her know we… are alright…” his voice was breaking up more with each word, “tell her… not to worry. Sam will take care of me…”

 

She was ready to start the prayer even though she could feel that her silence, in this place, would be understood as much as her words. She had known that the moment she had decided to bring her brother here, so that he could give his last goodbye to their mother, the one that would rock him to sleep every night until he could find a semblance of peace. Here there were no more noises to disrupt his thoughts, here he could find closure.

She had hoped that He’d be enough to get her through this day and the next to come and, somehow, she had felt that hope strengthen into an assurance of sorts as soon as her eyes had fixed on the silver, suffering image of Christ. She had felt his embrace and had embraced her brother in return.

Mark’s words had only served as a boost. A heart-wrenching boost to be heard, but a great power source nonetheless. His tone was low, gentle, soft, but in it resided a great might. Despite the fact that his words were broken and breaking further as he went on, she could feel that they were a good sign, a sign of healing. She wasn’t going to fool herself, she knew it would take time to recover, but she felt some hope springing. The last part was hardly more than a whisper, but their proximity made it hard for her not to hear it and impossible not to answer, “as long as you’ll need me, Mark”. It was a promise to him and to God, but most of all it felt like the one promise made to her mother she didn’t want to break.

 

They both felt it within them, the stream of light coming from the window glass – one last brush to their cheeks as their mother drifted away.


End file.
